


A Bloody Cliché

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, EVERYONE READS JOHN'S BLOG, Fluff, M/M, no point trying John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-26
Updated: 2011-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accidental blog post by John. It's accidental, really!</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bloody Cliché

**Author's Note:**

> A request from pondilicious but also very much dedicated to tellydreams who both fangirl with me over SherJohn like kjdsfksjdvnw. I love this two girls so much it's not real.
> 
> It’s written in form of a blog post on John’s blog. So it’s in John’s POV. The request was for sex with whipped cream and strawberries. Fluffiness everywhereeeeeeeeee!

**  
15th June   
**

**A Bloody Cliché**

OH GOD FUCK JUST GET OUT OF HERE JUST. GET OUT, GOD. SERIOUSLY.

To begin with, I wrote this out of sheer boredom with Sherlock away for the day. I didn’t mean to post it and I can’t find the bloody delete button to remove this post. I tried editing the rest of this out but it keeps coming back. Someone must be playing a prank on me, and it really isn’t funny. I need Sherlock to help me delete this _fucking_ post when he returns. And for everyone that reads my blog, I strongly urge to get the hell out of this page for the safety of your minds. Honest to god, get the bloody fuck out of here, please. Especially if you’re a kid.

No, really, for the safety of your minds. Get. Out.

This had ultimately got to be the most cliché form of kinky sex or whatsoever that Sherlock and I- then again it’s just me- I had ever found ourselves in. There was a can of whipped cream by the side of the bed and a box of strawberries by the bed stand which was very involved, but _by gods_ the way Sherlock had just dragged his tongue from the base of my fore finger to the very tip at the very beginning before anything had begun had drove me quite insane.

Half of me had been screaming that this was just stupid and that I could get so much more if I actually wanted some kinky sex. Sherlock’s suggestion, this one was. I quite hated myself at that the moment for celebrating Sherlock’s birthday and promising that we’d try out any kind of sex he wanted. It’s funny how a person like Sherlock took birthdays so seriously and always insists to take the day off to celebrate it- unless there was a case of course. Cases are always of utmost importance to him.

I had asked him why he was so keen on celebrating birthdays, in which he usually sends out invitations to almost everyone he knew (and strangely even to the dead people). It was a bit silly, I think. His reply was that celebrating a birthday allowed one to clearly tell how old they were that year, that it marked something distinct in one’s life, and that it helped a whole lot when it came to pointing out age-associated diseases. I had absolutely no clue which one was most important by the way he was speaking.

Also, he’s like a child at Christmas when it came to birthdays. If anyone had bothered themselves with coming to the parties, they’d see the copious amount of decorations littered across the house. It’s really silly. He buys himself a lot of presents which is quite… _Oh_ , never mind that.

Anyway, after Sherlock was done with licking my fingers, they were all pruney and quite sticky no thanks to the whipped cream. Honestly, I had no idea what the strawberries were for. The only thing I could think of doing with them was simply eating it or making them into jam which I really didn’t have the tools to do.

He looked at me in the eye and gave me the slightest of smile. He had a brilliant smile that he seemed to reserve just for me. Never seen him smile like that to others.

He placed his hand over mine and gave it a squeeze. I felt a grin emerge and the thoughts of how ridiculous this was swept away as he pulled me in by the back of my neck with his free hand for a rather wet kiss. His kisses always felt perfect, felt right. The right amount of tongue, and the well-angled dip of his tongue. I was really quite amazed when Sherlock had said that he never really kissed before.

“John, you’re making fun of me,” he had said to me, matter-of-factly, when I had brought that up the next day he told me.

I had never brought it up ever since, one can’t be complaining when they’re quite satisfied on the receiving end.

So Sherlock was nipping my earlobe at one point, and the very next moment he has the top three buttons of my shirt unbuttoned- the sweater was long gone even before I realised it- and he’s trailing wet and (seemingly on purpose) sloppy kisses down my shoulder. He really had a thing for leaving love bites on every possible place that clothes could hide well. Doesn’t really leave much on visible areas. He mentioned that he didn’t like people eyeing the love bites he left on me but it doesn’t stop him from doing so anyway, possessive twat.

He sucked hard on my left shoulder, somewhere above that ugly scar the war left me, and left yet another mark. I remember sighing to this, or something. I don’t even know why I’m writing this when I’m probably going to delete this anyway. I really do get bored out of my mind when Sherlock isn’t around. I do miss him. Only a couple of hours more and he’s due to return. Joy!

Right, so he had moved his mouth to the rest of my buttons and expertly took them off one by one with his tongue while his hands massaged my wrist. It felt really soothing and erotic at the same time. I guess only he could make me feel that way.

There was a tug by my sleeves and my shirt had fallen to hang by the elbows of my bent arms where my hands were holding Sherlock by the shoulders. I felt the hiss of the can of whipped cream being sprayed on my neck which made me shiver though I relaxed as soon as Sherlock had his warm, warm tongue licking the whipped cream off. His tongue swept by the crook of my neck. It made me positively moan out loud and I can see that knowing smirk practically stapled on his face.

I pulled him in by his collar and kissed him and unbuttoned his shirt. Quite the impatient one, Sherlock. He had a tendency to just rip his own clothes off every time I try to take them off slowly. That was exactly what he does, it’s quite a turn-on. I was smiling at him again and he threw a strawberry into his mouth and chews. He pulled me in to kiss, and there was the strong sweet taste of the fruit ripping through my taste buds. I could smell the strawberry in his breath. I liked it.

He breaks the kiss and tugs at my trousers. With a mere flick of his wrist, the buttons are off. In another, my trousers were down. I could feel my hardness against my pants, tight and restricting. I had wondered if he felt the same at that very moment. I wanted to ask but as soon as I had my mouth opened, my teeth had clenched themselves tightly closed as there was another hiss of the can and wetness on my belly. I think I’m growing fat.

I laughed- Sherlock asked, “Did you just giggle?”- But I swear that I _laughed_ when he licked the cream out of my belly button. He watched me briefly, and then continued dragging his tongue languidly down to my navel. I swore when he placed a firm kiss to the tip of my clothed… _God I can’t believe I’m typing this…_ …to the tip of my clothed penis.

There was his finger tracing, with a strength that made me want to just ask him to fucking do something about it already, around my hardness (why am I even fake blogging this) that still pressing tightly against my pants. I swore once again and pulled the last piece of cloth covering me off roughly. Sherlock had stared at me, very amused. I had spat at him a “ _what”._ He chuckled, mocked my impatience.

I had him knocked over. A couple of strawberries were found in my hands before I crushed them over both his nipples. They stood so erect and they were- _oh, fuck me-_ so welcoming with the way they glistened with shiny, sticky, sweet liquid. I licked them, bit them. Just wanting to punish him. He moaned, grunted, fisted at my hair. I felt his hardness against my belly.

Ripped the rest of his bloody clothes off. Then I took him in my mouth, only after spraying whipped cream on his length and making sure every inch of it was covered. The way he shuddered as his penis bobbed up and down was so mesmerising. I played with his sac in one of my hands while the other rubbed that very sensitive spot in his inner thigh.

He was ridiculous, Sherlock. Never mind the madman he is, he’s brilliant. Oh, by gods, so very brilliant. It’s a wonder I have him, love him, kissed him, and shagged him. Hah! I shagged Sherlock fucking Holmes. People don’t know what they’re missing out on. I just love him so much. And oh great, I’m turning into a complete sap. Damn you Sherlock.

Right, again. Sherlock never quite liked letting me do much when it came to our sexual relationship, he hates being dominated. He _loves_ being in control. So he never lets me do much, except when he’s getting a blow job. God, he just loves blow jobs and I honestly don’t mind them either. _Oh, just. Argh. God, Sherlock._ The things you do to me.

Basically he got sick of me doing whatever I was doing, flipped me around. Next thing I know, he’s spraying whipped cream up my bloody arse. It was so fucking cold; I think I swore probably a million times. I faintly recall him laughing. He drew random patterns on my arm in attempt to soothe me.

But it really wasn’t much of him trying to soothe me from the cold whipped cream when he also had his finger up my arse pumping in and out. The feeling I get for him is just… simply ineffable sometimes. He makes me go crazy, I swear. Is this how a girl feels like when they’re in love for the first time?

It’s not like I’ve never dated before or anything. What I have with Sherlock is just… different. He’s simply amazing. People tell us we’re good together. I always try not to smile when that happens. Sherlock always tells me he notices me trying to hide my smile. Obviously, I feign innocence.

Then there was him with two fingers up me, scissoring, twisting, sliding in and out. Then three and more movement. Next I know- our positions are switched again. Well, I’m obviously above him and he has his penis pressed to me. He always gives me this look that asks if I’m alright with this, if I trust him, if I _love_ him enough for this. He knows I do, he knows I always will. Promised to. There’s a perfect golden band beautifully enclosed around both our fourth fingers on the left hand. We made a promise.

I’m such a fucking sap.

Then, he was in me. There was so many things happening at once. Him with the whipped cream again to my ear, spraying. The ever-so-naughty sound my buttocks slapping against his thighs. Him licking my ear. Me calling his name, telling him he’s mine. (I think I’m rather possessive)

He had us flipped around again- he’s always so restless in whatever he does, silly man- he took control. Had my right leg over his shoulder, he’s thrusting in and out so quickly that I think I was probably begging as if I haven’t had him for days. He was grunting my name. I can never get enough of his voice. It was always _John, John. John! Oh, John. Oh, yes._ I can never get sick of it.

He had us moved again. I could always tell when he was close. He would always have me held as close to him as he could, but making care to have my length in his grip, teasing it, tugging it, and driving me to my climax. He’d always have our foreheads pressed together, or he’d always press kisses on my nose, on my cheeks, all over my face to the point I can’t fucking _breathe_ and I swear, _swear, swear_ that I just don’t give a rat’s ass even if my face was coated in his saliva.

I just loved having him so close to me. I can’t remember life without him. Don’t think I can do life without him. He’s just so bloody special to me to the point where it hurts and I feel so silly. He knows this, he still loves me.

I’m a very lucky man.

He likes it when we orgasm together so he pays extra attention to my body language when he attempts to make that happen. He knows me so well, I feel so completely bare to him. It was so scary at first but I rather love it now. It allows me to trust him with my entire being.

We had reached our climax together that night. We spent the rest of it in each other’s arms, spraying whipped cream, still, over each other’s bodies every once in a while and licking it off, snuggling, and kissing, and rattling over mindless things- something Sherlock always did after we made love. Even though Sherlock usually has the coldest of touch, it’s as if his body radiates with heat after our activities.

I guess cliché can be good after all. I’m really lucky to have Sherlock. It makes me wonder what he sees in me sometimes. I’m just a silly doctor who left war because I got shot, there’s nothing special about me.

Why am I so hopelessly in love with him?

Damn you, Sherlock.

 **= 29 comments**

* * *

What the bloody hell, John? You’re gay now?

 **Harry Watson** 15th June 17:26

* * *

I never thought you had it in you to actually write such a post. I mean, I knew about you and Sherlock from our drinks in the pub, but this is just… Wow.

 **Bill Murray** 15th June 17:29

* * *

You’ve quite the imagination for typing all of these especially since I was sure you were pretty much out of it. Though it does explain the amount of missing details.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15th June 17:35

* * *

I don’t think you’ll be needing to see me anymore.

 **E Thompson** 15th June 17:36

* * *

Bloody freaks.

 **sallydonovan** 15th June 17:38

* * *

Oh, John. You’re quite the blogger. It’s very sweet you and Sherlock loves each other so much.

 **Marie Turner** 15th June 17:40

* * *

This is Mrs Hudson, by the way.

 **Marie Turner** 15th June 17:40

* * *

God, I can’t believe Sally just made me fucking read this.

 **Anderson** 15th June 17:45

* * *

Go away, Anderson. Even Wikipedia is going stupid with you on the internet.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15th June 17:46

* * *

I can see that Lestrade just choked on his coffee.

 **sallydonovan** 15th June 17:50

* * *

wow

 **theimprobableone** 15th June 17:52

* * *

Right, so now everyone is reading this. I’m just going to go shoot myself now, guys.

 **John Watson** 15th June 18:01

* * *

They can’t help it, John. It’s human nature to be curious.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15th June 18:02

* * *

I just want to disappear now.

 **John Watson** 15th June 18:04

* * *

Stop being such a drama queen. It’s Sherlock’s job to do so. Also, I’m glad things worked out between you and Sherlock.

 **Sarah Sawyer** 15th June 18:09

* * *

Thanks, Sarah. You’re very understanding.

 **John Watson** 15th June 19:12

* * *

Pruney isn’t a word, John. Just so you know.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15th June 19:42

* * *

Right, sorry. Thanks for correcting me. Well, IT’S NOT LIKE I CAN EDIT IT ANYWAY!

 **John Watson** 15th June 19:46

* * *

You’re quite the sentimental one, you know. Also, I am not helping you delete this post.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15th June 19:48

* * *

Oh, shut up! Like you aren’t! AND WHAT???

 **John Watson** 15th June 19:49

* * *

I do love you.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15th June 19:51

* * *

…I do love you, too. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to get away from this.

 **John Watson** 15th June 19:53

* * *

Right, then. I’ll make you forgive me.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15th June 19:55

* * *

And how are you going to go about doing that?

 **John Watson** 15th June 19:56

* * *

Why don’t you come downstairs? I’m home.

 **Sherlock Holmes** 15th June 20:01

* * *

Oh my. That explains the slamming of the doors last night. Mrs Hudson here.

 **Marie Turner** 16th June 08:21

* * *

Still freaks.

 **sallydonovan** 16th June 10:03

* * *

Goodness, John!

 **Mike Stamford** 16th June 10:46

* * *

You’re never going to hear the end of this, John.

 **Harry Watson** 16th June 11:09

**Author's Note:**

> This was incredibly fun to write, I hope you've enjoyed it!
> 
> Do leave comments! <3


End file.
